Hetare Drabbles
by The Wammy Girl
Summary: Send in any word and I'll write a drabble for it! Rated T just to be safe. Romano will be present occasionally, so I kinda have to rate it T. Individual chapters have their own warnings at the beginning. I hope you enjoy!
1. Herbal

**_A/N:_** Hetalia drabbles! I was inspired by Nezumi Neko's story; right now it has 192 chapters! That is a lot. A whole lot. So... ehm... send in a word and I'll write a chapter for it! First come, first serve! Unless I get a really good idea for a chapter (doubtful), I'll take all suggestions. Oh, and some slight USUK in this one. If you don't like USUK, you can just take it to mean they're good friends. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I really don't own anything. I'm just writing for fun. Don't hurt me! I have relatives in your country!

o-o-o

1: Herbal

England scowled, handing America a teacup. America nodded a thanks and sniffled as he curled up tighter in the blanket.

Sitting down in his chair England opened his book; only to say, without looking up, "I told you so."

"What?" America asked, still not having drunk any of the tea.

"I warned you that you'd get a cold if you played in the rain." Then, putting his book down, he looked straight at America. "You're getting far to old for that anyway."

When America only shivered and averted his eyes in response, England walked over to him. Warily, he wrapped one arm around the blanketed man; America initially stiffened, but then relaxed.

"Here," England said, lifting the teacup to America's mouth. "Have some herbal tea, you'll feel much better."

America nodded and sniffed again before taking a large sip of the tea.

"See? Isn't that bet-" England soothingly murmured, before the tea was spit all over his face.

"England!" America whine-yelled, standing up. "That was nasty! I'm never drinking that again!"

England slowly opened his eyes, his face still dripping with tea. America saw the look of pure fury and promptly fled.

"Bloody git..." England growled, wiping his face off. _"At least he's better, though..."_ one of the faeries added, flitting around to land on his shoulder.

"Yes... I suppose so..." England muttered.

o-o-o

_**A/N: **_Yes, I meant to spell faeries like that. Less like Tinkerbell, more like folklore.


	2. Cake

_**A/N: **_Thanks to both of my reviewers, who suggested cake and artichoke. So... both? Slight Germany/Italy in this... Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Hetalia... Saaaad faaaace...

o-o-o

2: Cake

"England? What's this?" Sealand whined while England had his back turned.

"What is what?" England asked, gritting his teeth and mixing viciously.

"This." Sealand replied, not helping at all.

England stopped stirring and set down the bowl, taking deep breaths. "What..." he said, slowly turning around, "_DO YOU BLOODY WANT FROM ME?"_

Sealand just stared back, a blank look in his eye.

After a long moment of silence, England spoke. "Well, what?"

"Uh..." Sealand said, "I forgot." Then he walked away, leaving England curled up in a corner, rationalizing if it was really so horrible to hit children. And by children, he meant Sealand.

_I swear, _England thought, _I'm the only nation that ever has to go through this..._

Elsewhere!

Germany was baking a cake... again. He's been doing this a lot lately. As usual, Italy wanted to help.

"Ve~ Doitsu! I found the flour~!" Italy said happily, climbing up the basement stairs.

Mentally, Germany screamed in agony. For his own sanity, he had hidden the flour, hoping that Italy would take forever finding it. Thus, he would be left alone. He turned slowly, dreading what he was sure would happen next.

Just as he had the past seventy-two times, Italy tripped over the last stair. Immediately, the kitchen and everything in it were covered in a thin layer of flour.

Germany sighed, as he was often known to do, and slowly walked over to Italy. Italy immediately jumped up and hugged Germany, causing the taller nation to blush. "That was fun~!" Italy shouted, letting go of Germany and cheering happily.

Germany winced when he saw the state of his kitchen, it looked like a flour-packed grenade had gone off.

Turning his attention away from Italy, Germany noticed that he had a rather odd-shaped green thing in his hand.

"Um... Italia... What is that?" Germany asked, indicating the lumpy green thing and hoping it wasn't a poorly disguised nuclear device.

"Oh, this?" Italy said, holding it up. "It's an artichoke~!"

Germany's eye twitched. "And... Why exactly do you have an artichoke?"

Italy shrugged, "France nii-chan gave it to me~."

Germany was now totally convinced that it was, indeed, a tactical nuclear device disguised as an artichoke. The best course of action, he decided, was to throw it though a window. So he did.

Ignoring the collateral damage, Germany went back to making his cake.

"Italia~!" he said cheerfully, "Do you want to help~?"

The fact that Germany was openly happy was strange within itself, but Italy is not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Okay~!" he said as he bounced over to Germany.

o-o-o

_**A/N: **_Is that what Italy calls France? I think so... Correct me if I'm wrong, please. And I like when Germany calls him Italia, it's cuter...


	3. Broadway

_**A/N: **_I'm happy! Guess why! Now an eerie silence stretches across the author's notes... Right! Someone from Poland read this! Poland~! Heeheehee... I'm so happy... -fangirls- (Yes, I know this is a bit extreme. You better hope nobody from Germany ever visits; your eardrums might be shattered by the screams of utter joy. No, really.) Ahem, anyway the prompt is Broadway, and it's from KrissyV333! Now is the time for me to come clean... I have a serious addiction to musicals. There is slight Germany/Italy in this, though in a sort of unintentional way. Anyway, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, and I never have; it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I also do not own The Producers, it belongs to the beloved Mel Brooks! Yay him! The song used is called There's Nothing Like a Show on Broadway, it's very good.

o-o-o

3: Broadway

One day, Germany was doing paperwork as usual. _Wow... _Germany thought, _The authoress sure is being original. Only about a million fanfictions start like this... Next, I bet Italia is going to burst in "unexpectedly" Comedy ensues, the end._

Suddenly, Romano burst in! Germany groaned and rubbed his temples, preparing to have things thrown at him. _I never thought Italia bursting in here would be a bad thing. _Germany though bitterly, only to see Italy running after his brother whilst wearing a... was that a suit? Italy never wore suits... but a blue one did suit him.

"HEY! POTATO BASTARD!" Romano yelled, snapping his fingers in Germany's face.

Germany pushed Romano's fingers away like they were infected with the plague, then answered with a scowl. "What do you want, Romano?"

"What do _**I **_want, meathead? _**I **_want my brother to stay as far away from you as possible. But, he's got it in his dumb, pasta-filled head to do some sort of act with you." Romano said in a low voice, occasionally stabbing Germany with his index finger. Germany opened his mouth to ask a question, but was cut off by Romano.

"Before you even ask, potato face, I don't know. Nor do I give a damn or want to be involved!" he shouted, then stormed off, muttering something about calling Spain.

Germany shook his head sadly, then realized he didn't know where Italy was. This was a bad thing. This was a **very **bad thing. At this moment, hundreds of horrible, Italy-maiming accidents flashed through his mind. He stood up quickly, looking around wildly.

"I-Italia?" he gasped, hardly a whisper, then much louder. "_**Italia!**_"

He was about to call again when, in a flurry of papers, someone attacked him from behind. "Ve~! Silly Doitsu!" they said, wrapping their arms around his neck.

"Italia?" Germany asked, trying to pry the person off his back. He soon succeeded, and was holding a smiling Italy in front of him.

"Of course it's me, ve~!" Italy smiled wider, if that was even possible. He then asked, with a serious look on his face, "Were you imagining horrible scenarios in which I die again?"

Germany, shocked at Italy's expression and vocabulary, numbly nodded.

Italy giggled, and leaned forward to kiss Germany on the tip of his nose. "Silly Doitsu~!" he said, as the wildly blushing German set him down.

"Italia, Romano mentioned something earlier... what was it?" the blonde nation asked, rubbing the back of his head and still looking embarrassed.

"Oh yeah, ve~!" Italy cried picking up a few papers off of the floor where they had fallen when he glomp-attacked Germany.

"I'm making a musical! I wanted to be in one of America's, but he said I was too short, ve~!" Italy frowned at this. "But then this friendly old man said I could use a song from one of his movies~! So he gave me this, ve~!" Italy handed Germany one of the papers.

The first page, the synopsis, read:

_Leo Bloom (a timid accountant) and Max Bialystock (a washed-up Broadway producer) team up to put on the worst Broadway show in history to scam people out of their money. The play they settle on is called Springtime For Hitler, and-_

Germany stopped. Scamming wasn't a good sign, but Hitler? Then, Germany remembered. It hadn't seemed like very long ago when the movie had come out. Almost instantly, he was receiving copies from everyone. Some meant well and thought he would find it funny (like Liechtenstein), but others were just being obnoxious (France, who sent him an innumerable amount of the exact same movie).

Snapping out of his memory, he shakily lowered the papers. "No." he said firmly. "No, Italia. I am sorry, but I cannot."

Italy pouted. I when I say pouted, I mean the full package. His eyes grew huge and watery, his lips quivered, and he looked up at Germany like he had just said he was going to slaughter babies.

"B-but... Why?" He gasped, not breaking eye contact.

"It's too touchy a subject for me. I'm not going to agree with you just because you're pouting, either."

Italy pouted harder!

Germany was unable to look away. _Must... resist... cute Italia... _he thought desperately. His eyes were starting to water from not blinking.

"Fine, one song." Germany said quickly, looking away and blinking frantically.

"Ve~ Thank you!" Italy shouted, glomping Germany mercilessly.

"Yes, yes, you're welcome." Germany muttered, awkwardly hugging Italy back.

Germany sat back down in his chair and started looking over the lyrics. "But it has to be one that's not about nazis. And keep in mind that the audience has to be able to understand without us needing to explain the plot so far."

"Okay, ve~!" Italy said, hovering nearby.

"How many other people are working on this?" he asked, glancing up at Italy.

"Um..." Italy counted on his fingers. "Just you and me, ve~!"

"It'll have to be a duet or a solo, then..." he said, eliminating a few more options.

After a few more quiet moments of paper shuffling, Germany held up five papers. "That just leaves these. One is a lover's duet, one is in German, one is slightly insane, the next one might as well be a lover's duet... the last one's okay."

"Ve~ what's the last one?" Italy questioned, cocking his head.

"It's called There's Nothing Like a Show on Broadway. It wasn't technically in the show, but it looks like it might be-" the German paused, aware that he was about to say "fun". "Not a disaster." he finished.

"Okay, ve~! We'll sing that one!"

"Opening Night"

_That stupid frog-eater... _Germany thought, gritting his teeth. _How did he find out? And why did he invite everyone?_

Once France had told everyone, America had quickly swept in with teams upon teams of Broadway experts. An elaborate stage had been built, with an antique velvet curtain shipped in from some decrepit (and famous) theatre in America.

Costume designers had been brought in, but soon realized that they really didn't have anything to do. They joined the herds of bored workers, milling around and mildly annoying all the Germans living in the area with their accents.

America was apparently unaware that this act consisted only of a short duet. Or he knew, and he just wanted an excuse to show off.

Germany peeked around the edge of the curtain, only to immediately pull away and shudder. There was Prussia, in the front row, holding a large sign that read: "Revenge is Sweet, West." He also held a rather large camera, which had a microphone on a fishing rod attached as a makeshift boom.

"Ve~ Doitsu~!" Italy cried, running over. "Isn't it great that so many people came to see us?"

"Ah... sure, Italia. I don't think they know what the act is, though..." Germany said the last part quietly, not wanting to upset the easily-upset-able Italy.

Italy didn't seem to notice, because he was busy looking through the curtain. Austria sat disgruntledly between Prussia and Hungary, who was quietly chanting "Crossdress, crosdress, crossdress, crossdress..." She didn't seem to know that it wasn't that kind of show.

Meanwhile, backstage, America was running around making last minute checks.

"Lights?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Check." a bored voice answered.

"Music?"

"Check."

"Uh... other lights?"

"Check."

"Hamburger?"

"Not check."

"What?" America was now thoroughly panicking. "No hamburger? What is this worl- Oh, wait, it's in my hand. Never mind!" he shouted as if reassuring a crowd. "Everything's fine! I found it! No need to panic!"

Crickets were heard across the stage.

"Okay.." America said, calming down, but still oblivious to the fact that no one had cared in the first place.

"How're you doing?" he said, jumping over to Germany and patting him on the back.

Germany flinched, then replied through strained breath, "Fine. Never better. Go away."

"Good!" America shouted in Germany's ear, before going over to Italy.

"And how are you, mi amigo?" he said, with an French accent on the last part.

"Ah, ve~, I don't speak Spanish... or French." Italy said meekly.

America paused, a smile frozen on his face. After a few awkward moments, he cried "Good!" and ran off.

"Ve~! Doitsu, are you ready?" Italy asked, walking over to the increasingly nervous German.

"Ah, yeah, Italia... I'm fine." he said, trying to give a reassuring smile over his obvious stagefright.

"And, now, ladies and gentlemen..." a loud announcer's voice said over the speakers, "There's Nothing Like a Show on Broadway, as sung by Italy and Germany!"

"Ve~ we're on!" Italy exclaimed, pulling Germany over to the chairs they had set up.

Just as they sat down the curtain rose and a light shined down on Italy's chair.

"_The overture is over (ve~), the curtain starts to rise. You're suddenly in glover, you can't believe your eyes._" Italy sang as the music began to play. "_You're sitting on the aisle, you break into a smile (ve~); Why this magic feeling (ve~)? And then you realize... That there is nothing like a show on Broadway; (ve~) nothing like a Broadway show._"

The lights dimmed up to a low glow. Then, Italy began to sing louder, getting up and semi-dancing. _W-WHAT? We never practiced that! _Germany thought, silently spiraling into a panic.

"_Hearts will skip a beat on Broadway. If you're feeling blue (ve~), I'm telling you (ve~), that's the place to go. Movies drag, they're endings sag (ve~): TV's just a bore. So hit the street and move your feet to the place we all adore (ve~). Because there's nothing like a show on Broadway..._" he held the note as he backed toward Germany, prepared for phase two of a plan France may or may not have suggested. Fortunately, for the sake of entertainment, Germany was too lost in his silent panic to notice the approaching Italian.

"_There's nothing like a Broadway show~!_" he grabbed Germany's hand and pulled him up as his part began.

Germany, surprised, started his part out of habit. "_It's often been said the theatre is dead, the critics repeat it en masse._" Now Italy was dancing with him. Why? Because France is an evil genius.

"_But the theatre's alive, it's gonna survive, even though it's a pain in the a-!_" Germany jumped as Italy smacked him on the ass. Italy just smirked in response, just like France had told him to. At the same time, Hungary and Japan bean taking pictures while Prussia cackled wildly. Austria, probably the only mostly sane person there, facepalmed. France, who was sitting in the back, chuckled evilly under his breath. The Englishman sitting nearby immediately suspected France to be behind this. He was right.

"_You waited forever, and finally got tickets; to get to your seat, you gotta cross pickets. The guy to your right is frightfully tight, the guy to your left appears to have rickets._" the embarrassed German sang, glancing up at Italy only to find that he was still smirking evilly.

"_The music's yuck, the lyrics suck, the casting is all wrong. And when you reach the bathroom, the line is five miles long._" Hungary cheered at this, taking the word "bathroom" to mean "hot man sex".

Germany glanced up once again; Italy now looked like his normal, innocent self again.

"_But still, there's nothing like a show on Broadway (ve~)!_" he sang joyfully.

Then, together, they sang "_There's nothing like a Broadway show!_"

Germany, who now lived in constant fear of being slapped on the ass again, then sang his next line. "_You swear you'll never go again, it's simply not worthwhile._"

"_You make that vow (ve~); and then, somehow..._" Italy sang, still acting as if nothing had happened.

"_You're back there on the aisle._" both sang, "_That's why there's nothing like a show on Broadway!_"

"_There's nothing like a Broadway show~!_" Italy sang loudly, before he was interrupted by Germany on cue.

"'_Till you're in movies!_" Germany interjected, taking the chance to glare viciously at France. France merely blew a kiss at Germany and winked.

"_There's nothing like a Broadway show~!_" Italy sang more convincingly.

"_And though it is expensive at a hundred bucks a throw..._" Germany sang, biding his time until the song was over.

"_There's nothing like a Broadway show~!_" they sang together, holding the note out long.

The curtain immediately fell as the applause erupted. Germany stumbled into his chair and sat down, putting his head in his hands.

"Ve? What's wrong?" Italy said, walking over.

"Italia, I'm only going to ask once. Why did you slap me?" Germany said, not taking his head out of his hands.

"Oh, ve~ I meant to tell you... You see, France nii-chan said that the little nations, like Sealand, couldn't hear bad words or... or..." Italy tried to recall France's exact words as Germany slowly raised his head out of his hands.

"Oh, yeah~! Or they'd become heathens, ve~! That's the word nii-chan used! So I asked him what I should do, ve~. We couldn't cut the word out, or it wouldn't make any sense, ve~; and we couldn't use another word ve~... So France nii-chan said I should hit your butt~! Really hard, he said..." Italy went from a triumphant smile to an ashamed-looking mope, something unusual on the cheery Italian.

Germany got up and hugged Italy for few brief seconds before Hungary's explosive nosebleed snapped him out of it. Turning, Germany saw a large group of nations staring at them; Japan was snapping pictures with renewed vigor.

"W-Where did all you people come from?" he shouted, pointing accusingly.

America, who was in the front, held up a badge that read VIP.

Germany wondered if a jump from the stage would be enough to kill him. No, he decided, probably not.

With this in mind, he grabbed Italy and jumped through the curtains. By a happy accident, his feet landed on France, crushing him.

He did not notice this, and continued running until he was sure he and Italy were safe. Italy, however, just smiled and said "Wheeeee~!" the whole time.

o-o-o

_**A/N: **_Whew~! That was long...


	4. Drowsy

A/N: Ah~ Thank you for your kind reviews~! Unfortunately, though, I didn't have any suggestions... I'll take any suggestions at all, really! My dad's side of the family is Greek, so I feel obliged to write this... Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, please don't sue me...

o-o-o

4: Drowsy

Greece's days were fairly simple. Get up, feed the cats, find a nice place to nap...

Sleeping as much as he did, it was reasonable to assume that he had quite a few dreams. Kiku was the first person to bring this up.

"So, Greece-san..." Kiku said one day, "What do you dream about?"

"In what way?" Heracles replied, sleepy as usual.

"When you're asleep." Kiku replied, petting a cat that had decided to curl up in his lap.

Heracles thought about this. "Cats." He answered simply.

"Ah." Kiku said, nodding. Then, after a silence only punctuated by the distant mewls of a kitten, "Anything else?"

"The other nations, you, my mother..." Heracles said, his voice trailing off as a cat landed on his head.

"Ah." Kiku said. "What are you doing in your dreams?"

"What I do every day."

"Ah."

And with that, Heracles drifted off to sleep again; the only sounds left were the cats, all quietly voicing their opinion.


	5. Virus

A/N: To make up for not publishing yesterday, there's a surprise on my page. Also, Minosu: the Conquistador-Spamano thing is going to take a bit, but it'll be long. My apologies.

Mostly Austria/Prussia, Germany/Italy mentioned. Nothing bad. Warning, fic is Austria-centric; this is because he graciously starred in my dream last night. Thank you Austria-san! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own APH, and I never have. Praise Lord Himaruya, for he reigns fair and true!

o-o-o

5: Virus

It was like a virus. I remember thinking that, right at the beginning of all this. I didn't mean it in a bad way, mind you. Just a virus.

First, there was Germany and Italy. Everyone had known it for years; germany had probably known it for years. It made sense, though: Italy was the type of person to love whomever he loved without a single thought to gender, while Germany was quite the opposite. I get the feeling, though, that Germany was out of the closet to Italy years before he out of the closet to everyone else.

Overall, they're a stable relationship. They visit sometimes, which I appreciate. It's gotten pretty lonely since Hungary left, even though I'd never admit it. Prussia still officially lives here, but Prussia's like a cat. He shows up and demands food before he's out the door again. I don't need a pet cat, I already have Prussia. If only he could catch mice...

After Germany and Italy got married, everyone sort of took it as their cue to exit the closet. Over the next few months, there were quite a few weddings. I had planned to hide until this blew over. I didn't want to play a church organ in so many weddings. When Germany and Italy had gotten married, Italy had talked me into playing the organ for them. It wasn't a legally binding ceremony, since marriage between two men was not permitted in either country. As Italy called it, it was a "Ceremony of Love."

But, as things turn out, I ended up playing a church organ to marriages across the globe. It was at this point that I decided I didn't like traveling as much as I'd anticipated.

While I was happy for everyone, it was borderline depressing for me. It was almost as if everyone had a virus, and I got "lucky".

When I got home, there was Prussia. He was sitting at my table; which was odd, because I don't recall giving him a key. In fact, I know I didn't give him a key. I know because the first thing he said to me when I walked through the front door was: "Hey, I broke the basement window to get in. You should get that fixed. Oh, and you're out of wurst again."

Polite, as always.

I don't know why Prussia wasn't infected with this virus either. Maybe he was, and I just didn't know. But I wasn't going to ask.

I went to put my suitcase upstairs, only to find my bed in complete disarray. The rest of my room looked almost untouched, but the bed was sloppily made. I laid my suitcase on the bed, figuring Prussia had felt entitled to sleep there or something, when something caught my eye.

Roderich,

I really missed you while you were gone. I wasn't sure where you were, and I sorta panicked. Sorry about the window.

Anyway, I'm not so awesome with words, so I decided to write you a note instead. And the note I wrote for you is the one you're reading right now. Pretty awesome, huh?

I know you probably still like Hungary, or maybe even someone else by now, but I figured that I needed to tell you this. Here goes:

You're pretty awesome. Not as awesome as me, but still pretty awesome. And I really like you. A lot.

...Please don't kick me out or hit me with a frying pan.

Love,

Gilbert

I was torn between laughter and weeping. In the end, I chose laughter. I was still chuckling quietly as I made my way downstairs to the kitchen. There was Prussia, as expected.

He was still trying to play it cool. He just stared at me while I got some frozen wurst he had overlooked from the freezer. I laid it on the table in front of him, and then walked off to play my piano. Not another church organ, but my piano.

Later...

Prussia was disappointed. He had hoped Austria would at least signify that he'd received that hard-to-write note. His disappearance really had worried him...

Laying on the pillow of his bed was a perfectly-folded piece of paper. Prussia nearly pounced on it.

Gilbert,

I greatly enjoyed your note. I am happy to inform you that I reciprocate your emotions.

Prussia scowled, what the hell did that mean?

In case you didn't get that: I like you too. A lot.

If you'd like to come up to the kitchen, I have made a cake for us.

Love,

Roderich


	6. Holiday

A/N: Yeah... Still working on the Conquistador-Spamano oneshot...

lokimademedoit (the infamous suggester of "artichoke") suggested holiday. Holiday it is. USUK shonen-ai, Spamano mentioned. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Ah... This is getting kinda boring... I have to put this on every chapter, huh? Grr... I still don't own Hetalia! Isn't it obvious?

o-o-o

6: Holiday

England was cheerfully packing his suitcase, whistling a cheerful tune. Faeries were flitting around and landing in his hair or on his shoulders.

"Oh, are you going with me?" England asked them.

"No, no, we couldn't impose!" they chorused. "Have fun on your holiday~!"

"Oh, I will. Mind the house while I'm gone, please." He closed his suitcase and began walking towards the garage door.

"We will~!" all the faeries cried in unison. As soon as he was out of the room, a pillowfight broke out while one of the faeries put on a loud rock CD. It was actually pretty quiet by human standards- to faeries it sounded quite loud, though.

England drove quietly, no music was playing. It was a nice country road, with trees and wildlife. It was relaxing, almost therapeutic, driving down this road.

But, England's peace of mind was soon shattered. A big, bright red, rented truck pulled up in the lane next to him. The music obviously had a very heavy beat, as England could hear it all the way in his car. There were vocals, but they were unintelligible. There were other instruments, but the synthetic beat drowned them all out.

By now, England was about as unpeaceful as he could be.

"HEY!" he shouted through his rolled-down window. When he got no reaction, he shouted again... and again... and again...

He soon pulled his head back in the car; having decided that yelling was pointless. He decided to honk his car horn loudly.

That didn't work either.

He pulled up so the driver's windows were level. He rolled down his window again and tried yelling some more. When that didn't work at all, he grabbed a rolled-up newspaper from the passenger seat and lobbed it at the window. That seemed to get their attention, as the window began to roll down.

England took a deep breath, ready to vent his anger to his heart's content. Speaking of his heart...

"Oh, hi Arthur!" America yelled enthusiastically from the truck, waving animatedly.

"What are you doing, you git?" was England's immediate reaction.

America seemed to ponder this for a second, absentmindedly taking a bite of his ever-present hamburger. "Nothin'."

"Don't butcher the English language!" England yelled in a fit of annoyance. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Well..." America said, "I heard from Matthew, who heard from Prussia, who heard from Antonio, who heard from France that you were going on vacation. But there was definitely something about a holiday involved. There aren't any holidays today, I even checked for weird British holidays! Are you staying at a Holiday Inn, maybe?"

England could say nothing in response to this. What had just exited that cretin's mouth was probably the funniest thing he had ever heard. And yet it angered him at the same time. England settled for just shaking his head sadly and driving off.

In his rearview mirror, he could see America indicating that England was the driver's target. England sighed; it was going to be one of those days, wasn't it?

A long car chase ensued, in which America did nothing, England drove for his life, and America's driver seriously reconsidered his job.

Eventually, England's car began to run out of gas. He slowly pulled into the next gas station, the red truck following him like an alligator follows a chicken.

England quickly rationalized his escape plan. It would have to do.

As expected, America ran over to the door and tried to open it. As usual, it was locked. England pretended not to notice America, and reached for the door handle. But then, at the last second, he lunged toward the other door- throwing it open and running for his life, suitcase in hand. As he ran away, he hit the button that locked the doors.

America was, to say the least, baffled. He soon recovered and headed back towards the truck, only to discover that the driver had driven off. The only thing left was a paper that read "I QUIT!"

America paused, considering his options. This was confusing to him.

"England!" he cried, running after the bitter nation.

England was walking through a path in a meadow, content that he had lost the hamburger-devouring menace. Unbeknownst to him, he hadn't.

"England!" whined a far-off voice. England ignored this and began walking faster.

"England!" the voice was closer now. England started running.

There was silence for the next few minutes, so England slowed to a brisk walk.

"England!" America yelled as he glomped the other nation to the ground. "I was looking for you! My driver ran away... with the car. And I wanna go on vacation with you!"

"Alfred..." England said, breathless, "Please get off, you're crushing me."

"Oh," America said, getting up. England stood up and dusted himself off while America stared into the distance.

England cleared his throat and America snapped out of it. "So... where're you going, anyway?"

England resisted the allure of another speak-the-queen's-english rant. "I'm going to Spain. Antonio offered me a cottage by the beach; I thought it would be relaxing."

America slowly shook his head, then took a bite of his hamburger, then shook his head sadly some more. "Arthur... I'm disappointed. That's so lame! Come on, come with me to New York instead!"

England got a gleam in his eye, and slowly walked up to America. "You know..." he said, snaking his hand around America's shoulders, "Antonio's place has marriage..."

"Um... well, what place doesn't?" America said, blushing.

England drew even closer. "No... You remember Antonio's wedding, right?"

America gulped, trying to recall that memory. Antonio was wearing a tux for once and Romano- Wait. Romano. So in Spain, gay marriage was-

"Ah~..." England purred. "So you remember."

Needless to say, they went to Spain. They didn't get married there, because England claimed that he had "never said that!"

America was sad about this, but he did get to go on holiday with England. Whatever that meant.


	7. Baseball

_**A/N: **_I start school tomorrow... saaad faaace... I'll do my best to keep updating regularly! Today's prompt is baseball, and it was suggested by Hokuto Uchiha (who also suggested cake).

Also... TWO READERS FROM GERMANY~! AIIIIIIII~! -goes to rock back and forth in the corner- Thank you... German people... (So... happy...) And someone from Japan! And two people from Italy! (At this point, I got too excited to be understood. I went on a long, happy rant in which I listed almost every character from Hetalia... Thank you, all you wonderful people.)

**Disclaimer: **I never owned APH, and I never will. Ever.

I also do not own Wii.

o-o-o

7: Baseball

"Okay, Arthur!" Alfred exclaimed, bursting through the door yet again, "Let's go play America's pastime!"

"What," said England, looking up from his tea, "Being annoying gits?"

"No," America said, smiling wide, "Baseball~!"

"No." said England.

"What?" said a confused America.

"No, I will not play baseball with you." England said, then kicked America out.

America grumbled as he dusted himself off. _Why wouldn't Iggy want to play baseball with me? It's the best sport ever! And I'm the best baseball player ever! Oh well... I'll go ask Kiku!_

Later, In Japan...

"Ah, hello? Kiku? Where are you?" America said on the phone. After deciding that ten minutes was long enough for anyone to answer a door, America had concluded that Japan was not home.

"Hello, Alfred-san. It's a little loud where I am right now. Please give me a moment to find a quieter location." Japan said, his voice a bit louder than usual.

"Where are you? It sounds louder than Times Square on new years eve!"

"Oh, I believe that's just the mosh pit. They can become quite rambunctious." The noise slowly got quieter until it was in the distance. "Ah, that's better. So, you wanted to know where I am?"

"Yeah, I was hoping we could play baseball... or at least Wii." America said hopefully.

"I'm a little busy right now... I'm at a concert in Greece."

"Oh... well, it's okay!"

"Thank you for being so understanding. Why don't you come over tomorrow?"

"Sure~!"

"See you then, goodbye."

"Bye!"

America sighed as he hung up, and dejectedly walked to his car.

He spent the next few hours visiting almost every other nation in his epic quest to show off his baseball skills. Those who weren't home, he called. Everyone was busy.

_Buy I'm not out yet! _America thought, _I still have one last chance!_

"Oh, Francis~!" America sang as he knocked on the Frenchman's door.

The door was opened almost immediately in a whirl of sparkles. "Ah, bonjour Amérique~!" France said, letting America in.

"Tea, coffee?" France asked as he walked gracefully to the kitchen. It was at this point that America realized France's house had roughly a trillion large pots, all growing red roses. America shrugged, this explained why France always had roses with him.

"No, thanks." America replied, "I've had enough coffee today."

"Ah," said France, practically dancing into the room and sitting on the sofa. He patted next to him, encouraging America to sit as well. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Well," America started, sitting down, "I've been going around, trying to find to someone to play baseball with. Everyone just offered me coffee. Do you want to play?"

"Ah, no thank you, Amérique. I'm surprised, though. Mathieu didn't want to play?" France received a blank look.

"Who?" America asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"Mathieu..." Still no reaction. "Canada?" Nothing. "The guy who gives you maple syrup? Your brother?"

"Oh~" America said, "That guy. No, I forgot about him. I'll go ask him." And America started to run off.

A far-off America yelled "Thank you Francis!"

"No problem at all, mon ami..." France muttered, smiling evilly as he dialed Canada's number.

"Matthew!" America yelled, rudely pounding on the Canadian's door. "MATTHEW!"

"I'm over here..." a quiet voice said.

America whirled around.

"Are you a ghost? Go away if you are!" America shouted, then turned back to the door.

"MATTHEW! LET ME IN! THERE'S A GHOST ON YOUR PORCH!" America half-whined half-yelled.

"I'm right here, Alfred..." the quiet voice said again.

"No! Your lying! You just want to steal my soul!"

"It's me, Matthew. I'm right here."

"I don't believe you!" And with that, America began to scream as he ran away.

Canada sighed, then walked though the front door. It had been unlocked the whole time...

That night, France got an angry and terrified call from America; claiming that France set him up.


	8. Slumber

_**A/N: **_This is just stress release... your regularly scheduled drabbles will resume shortly.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia. Hell, I don't even own the computer I'm typing on.

o-o-o

8: Slumber

Heracles was laying on a grassy hill, napping. A few kittens were curled up around him. Through a humorous eye, it might look as if Heracles was but a large, human-like kitten sleeping with the rest.

He opened his eyes sleepily at the faint sound of approaching footsteps.

Kiku looked down at him, blinking curiously.

It was Heracles, however, who spoke first. "Is it real?"

When Kiku looked puzzled, Heracles continued. "I wonder if now is a dream."

Kiku sat next to him, staring off at the rest of the fields. "I don't know."

"We never do." Heracles replied, philosophical as ever.

"Would a dream be such a horrible fate?"

"I never thought so."

They sat together, cats coming and going. The wide, clear fields waved slowly in the wind and glowed a nearly angelic color under the golden sun.

"I wonder how long we've been here." Kiku said softly.

"If no one needs to know the time... it's just numbers." Heracles replied, laying back down.

Kiku laid down next to him on the grass. They both closed their eyes, both wondering if you can descend into a dream from a dream.

o-o-o

_**A/N: **_Aha... and now I get to justify it. Whether you consider it a dream or not is up to you. The cats coming and going is a metaphor for people coming and going, which ties into the perspective on time. I always thought Heracles would have trouble distinguishing between dream and reality...


	9. PSA

_**A/N: **_And now, a PSA from the cast.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own APH, but I wrote this anyway. What is wrong with me?

o-o-o

"Hello, aru~!" China said, jumping in front of the screen.

"Ve~ is it on yet, Doitsu?" Italy asked in the background as China, still smiling, adjusted the camera and set it on a flat surface. China walked back to the nations sitting on the couch and plopped down, satisfied.

"Yes, Italia, I... I think it's on..." Germany said offscreen, sounding confused.

"Hello world~! Ve~ how are you today?" Italy said, getting far to close to the lens.

"You git! They can't reply, it's a video." England yelled from his seat on the couch arm.

"But... but..." Italy was now on the verge of tears as he looked from the camera to the ever-annoyed Englishman. Italy soon burst into tears, running to Germany.

Greece dozed of on the couch, falling onto either Japan or Prussia. When he fell on Japan, Japan would blush and softly remind him that he was not a pillow. When he fell on Prussia, he was pushed to the floor. England sat on the arm of the worn, green couch, bitterly sipping his equally bitter tea. In the background, Lithuania was sweeping vigorously, pausing often to look around as if he was being watched.

"Okay..." Germany said, walking behind the couch with a sniffling Italy in his arms. "It should be working now." Unfortunatly, Germany was so tall that only mid-chest and down were visible. In fact, because he was standing behind the couch, really only the chest that Italy was curled up against was visible.

They all sat in an awkward silence for a moment, Greece's snoring the only sound. They hadn't decided who was going to talk first. Prussia seized the chance like he seizes vital regions!

"Okay, so the author-lady..." Prussia said.

"TWG." Japan whispered.

"Yeah, her." Prussia said dismissively. "Well, she's kinda dumb-"

"Ah, don't say that, aru! You'll get written out, aru!" China cried, concerned for Prussia's already lucky state of existence.

"Nah, she'll never do that. She knows I'm too awesome to be written out, plus she slashes me with everyone." Prussia said confidently, laying back on the couch. "You give the bad news, West. You're good at that or whatever."

Germany sighed, still mostly unseen to the camera. "TWG apologizes, she didn't write anything to use as stock for when she's busy. She would like to assure all her readers that she still has a lot of ideas, just not enough time to write them. She is already adjusting to school, and hopes to be publishing regularly soon."

A hush fell over the group. Naturally, Greece woke up at that very moment.

"So..." he said sleepily, "What happened?"

"TWG's going to be a little late." Japan said said softly.

"Oh... yeah... she asked me to say something." Greece said, remembering slowly. "She wanted me to say... While you're waiting, go read some good lemons or crack... And she said, both if that even exists."

"That's... nice." Japan said courteously before Greece fell over on him again.

"Stupid endearing narcolepsy..." Japan muttered, blushing again.

Lithuania was still sweeping in the background when a blonde blur tackled him. "Like, hi Liet!"

"AH! RUSSIA! GO AWAY!" Lithuania screamed as he fell. He opened his mouth to scream some more, then realized it wasn't Russia. It sounded like this: "AHHH-! Oh, hi Poland."

Then, the door was kicked down! It was Estonia, who informed everyone that he needed to borrow their wi-fi. Latvia followed Estonia, trembling as usual. However, this time, Latvia was hooked up to a child leash; this was just Estonia's latest attempt to keep the tiny nation safe.

"HEY! POTATO BASTARDS ONE AND TWO!" an unidentified voice yelled before both Germanic brothers were violently pelted with what appeared to be tomatoes. Spain ran in the door, simultaneously scolding Romano and abducting Italy.

The camera fell off the table it was on, and America's voice says "Oops... too bad."

England's voice starts yelling about being respectful and not breaking his camera. We see many shots of various feet running around, then a polar bear sniffing at the camera.

"No, Kuma, don't eat that." a shy voice said, picking up the bear and camera. He gently sets the camera back on the table. We now see that Japan and Greece have curled up adorably together on the couch and Russia is hiding in the chandelier. France has jumped through the window, he and Prussia are (unsuccessfully) trying to convince various people to begin taking body shots with them.

In the distance, we hear the loud sound of someone playing Chopin on a piano; as well as the distinctive frying-pan-to-the-face accompaniment. England and America are brawling on the carpet, and chuckling is heard from behind the camera.

"It's Korea~!" Korea said enthusiastically, using the camera in the typical on-the-move blog fashion. "Uri nara mansae! Let's go see if I can claim Aniki's breasts!"

"Go away, aru!" China (who apparently overheard) yelled, taking the camera and putting it back on the table.

The camera is now pointing towards a corner containing both Italy brothers and Spain. Feliciano is sleeping, leaned against the corner, while Romano eats a tomato and rejects Spain's advances. Spain doesn't stop making these advances, and it's clear that Romano will eventually give in.

A shuffling sound approaches the camera. "Where is the off button..." Germany murmurs before he is hit in the face with another tomato.

The camera hits the ground, cracking sharply. As the picture is fading, we hear a triumphant yell from off-screen.

"Finally! You're breasts are mine Aniki! They **did **originate in Korea, you know!"

And with that, the camera dies. The memory, however, will be rediscovered by Canada the next day. Canada will consider using it as blackmail to take over the world, but dismiss the idea and merely hide the tape in his bedroom. Just in case.

o-o-o

_**A/N: **_I feel bad for Korea... his own people don't like him. -hugs him- It's okay Korea...

(Oh, just in case you don't know, uri nara mansae means "hooray for our land")


	10. Wickerbasket

_**A/N: **_Wickerbasket. I don't know why I picture a futuristic city when I think of this word, but I do. Zhorla, here it is. Also, it's Antonio/Romano/Feli/Antonio shonen-ai. AU because I haven't done one in this set of drabbles yet.

Also, a note to Nima: please log in or PM me or something! I wanted to discuss your request, but there are like a hundred Nimas on the site! Please!

**Disclaimer: **Hidekaz Himaruya... you own APH... I... I love you.

o-o-o

10: Wickerbasket

The lift raised Antonio high above the city. His work was over. A busy day of nothing. Another suit, another speech, another politician to clap for. Nothing was new today.

He turned to look over the city. The politic rebuilt this city, but it was impossible for him to overlook the dusty outskirts. They had not been rebuilt and had only fallen deeper into ruin. Of course, he wouldn't mention this at a meeting. It made his heart ache to know this, but he was sure that once he was promoted he could start fixing the slums. After all, his family could pull the strings.

The lift slowed to gently meet the top apartment, a gift from Antonio's late father. The smell of pasta drifted in through the silently opening door, bringing a smile to Antonio's grief-stricken face. His maids were home.

The maids in question weren't so much maids, as hired help. But to Antonio, they were always maids.

They were two brothers, both Italian, two years apart. Romano was twenty-two, Feliciano twenty. Romano, the elder, always seemed to be in a bad mood and always seemed to have a tomato in hand. Feliciano, the younger, was naive, sweet, and a fantastic chef.

Together, they would clean... and plot against Antonio. Once, Antonio came home to fifty bowls of pasta laid out on his dining table. Another time, he found two large flowerpots sitting completely empty on his bed.

The surprises had slowly gotten bigger and bigger. He anticipated nothing less of a parade this time.

But there was no parade; just a plate of pasta sitting on his kitchen table, still steaming.

Antonio walked over cautiously, looking around suspiciously. After five minutes, he found no danger.

He sat and ate the pasta (delicious as usual), then watched the evening news until it got too depressing (fifteen minutes). He took his shower as usual, and walked to his bedroom in a pair of worn basketball shorts. That's when he noticed the basket.

It was a wickerbasket, to be precise. At it's highest point, it was ten feet high and the basket part was big enough to comfortably contain two Italian maids. It was covered with a thick, dark green blanket that ever-so-slightly moved occasionally.

Antonio reached out without hesitation and knocked on the side. He was quickly rewarded with the sight of a quite pleased Feliciano popping up, dragging a disgruntled Romano with him. Normally, this would only be mildly strange, but it was at his point that Antonio noticed something different. Both boys were wearing fluffy white dresses that reached to their knees. Feliciano had somehow managed to tie lacy, white handkerchiefs over their heads.

Needless to say, this sight by itself was fairly surprising. Antonio was frozen where he stood, staring with wild eyes while blood trickled out his nose. This alarmed Feliciano, who immediately jumped out of the basket and cleaned Antonio's face off with a tissue from the nearby dresser. It was this that snapped Antonio out of his stupor.

Antonio stepped forward swiftly and wrapped his arms around the younger Italian.

"Ah... Mr. Antonio?" Feliciano said, a slightly worried tone in his voice.

Antonio kissed him on the forehead before Romano yanked his brother away and shot a glare at the Spaniard. "Stay away from him..." he growled.

In response, Antonio kissed Romano fully on the lips. Romano initially blushed, then remembered his part. He was the older brother, and he had to protect Feliciano. His own emotions didn't matter... How did Feli even talk him into this anyway? With these thoughts, Romano pushed Antonio away.

Antonio just smiled broadly at the two smaller ones. Though he was the same age as Romano, he was taller and more muscular than both the Italians. He decided to use this to his advantage, but not abuse it.

That in mind, Antonio promptly scooped up both of the brothers and carried them to the bed. Romano, unsurprisingly, protested violently; kicking at Antonio and trying to wriggle away. Antonio merely smiled set them down on the bed. As Romano was getting up, Antonio grasped Feliciano's curl firmly. The latter let out a soft whined and shivered, grabbing Antonio's other hand.

Romano glared viciously. _You wouldn't..._

Antonio smiled back, acting as if none of this was out of the ordinary. _Oh, but I would._

At this moment of daring, Antonio lunged forward to wrap his lips around Romano's curl.

Romano responded much as his brother had, but more reluctantly.

Antonio's heart was beating so loudly for the two Italians; one of whom looked terrified and yet excited, the other looked ready to bolt with his brother in hand. Antonio smiled warmly at them and took them in his arms.

Romano froze; the ever contrasting Feliciano immediately melted into the hug. Antonio slowly laid down on his bed, bringing the two brothers with him.

Time seemed to be nonexistent here. After a while of lying in the dark, the only light being the moonlight slipping through the blinds, Antonio realized both boys were asleep.

"I love you..." he whispered, kissing them each on the cheek before drifting off to sleep himself. Maybe tomorrow he could fix the outskirts...

o-o-o

_**A/N: **_This is the most mature-rated thing I've ever written. It was fun.

Also, more metaphoric stuff. Notice how each character only has one line, an each is telling about their portrayal. Feliciano was portrayed as innocent, thus his line was trusting and naive. Romano was portrayed as protective, so his line was a warning. Antonio was portrayed as amorous, and his line was just that.


	11. Homework

_**A/N: **_Ah... I'm so tired... But I'm excited because I got my first plushie today! It's Chad, from Bleach... and I've been hugging it all day...

Oh, just so you know, I'm in this drabble. I don't do this usually, so I'm sorry if you hate it. It was just an odd daydream I had...

Nima... -sigh- Please contact me, if you would. I would like to discuss your request. I'll move onto the next request for now, which is... homework, from lokimademedoit. Thanks, dear~.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia... but I do own a plushie! -dances with plushie-

o-o-o

11: Homework

"Eh... I've been so busy..." a girl said, resting her head on the textbook in front of her. "Now I know how Germany feels... I think he likes paperwork, though..." Sitting up suddenly, she yelled to the empty room, "What is **wrong** with him? Was he dropped as a child or something?" She then fell over onto her bed again. _Ah... shut up. _she thought,_Your inner Romano is showing... think about kittens and philosophy, get your Greece zen-ness back. _

"Ugh, forget about it. I'm tired, I don't care if there's any more work to do! I'm going to sleep!" With that, she put a pillow over her head and quickly fell asleep beside the various papers and books.

When she opened her eyes, it felt as if only a few moments had passed. Glancing over at the much-abused alarm clock, she noted that it had instead been a few hours. _Aw, that's a shame..._ she thought sarcastically. Just as she was sitting up and stretching, there was a knock on her door. Expecting it to be a family member, she continued stretching; shutting her eyes and yawning, she said "Come in." sleepily.

However, when she finished rubbing her eyes, she saw someone who she definitely didn't know. Balling her fists and taking a defensive stance, she asked "Who are you and why the hell are you in my house?"

The man was tall, she noted. He looked pretty muscular, too... this wasn't a good idea. _Too late for that, huh?_ she thought, laughing in her mind.

"Doitsu~!" a call rang from the hall. The voice was a bit high, but definitely male. In fact, the voice sounded a lot like...

Her suspicions were confirmed when the voice followed up with, "They have so much pasta here!"

Looking up at the temporarily distracted German, she started laughing wildly. When he turned to give her a confused look, she fell over in laughter. "Oh my god..." she said between fits of giggles, "I've finally gone crazy! Hahahaha~! I knew this day would come!" She abruptly stopped and closed her eyes. She took several deep breaths, her hand gripping at the notebook it rested on.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open as she flung the notebook at her supposed hallucination. It hit him square in the forehead.

Her eyes grew wide. After a barrage of apologies, she managed to say, "So you're not a hallucination? Sorry, sorry, sorry, I thought you were my brain telling me I've lost it. Ah, is it bleeding? I'm so sorry!"

He waved his hand as if to dismiss the subject. "It's fine. I assumed that it would come as somewhat of a shock, I expected much worse than this."

"I'm really, really sorry about that. I would offer you wurst, but I don't have any..." she said, shuffling her feet.

Germany paused and looked out the door. "I think Italia is making pasta, do you want some?"

"Oh, yeah..." she zoned out for a moment, but then made eye contact again. "I forgot to eat today, so I should probably get some pasta." With that, she began to walk towards the kitchen. _Forgot to eat?_ Germany thought as he followed. _What a strange American..._

o-o-o

_**A/N: **_I was bored, I really should have been working...


	12. Ring

**_A/N:_** Next up is TheWinglessTenshi, with the prompt rings (preferably involving Spain and Lovino). Thanks for the review, hun!

**Le Disclaimer:** I so totally don't, like, own Hetalia. But I totally watched the first episode of Angel Beats today, and it was wicked!

o-o-o

12: Rings

It was official, Elizabeta loved the internet.

The "magic" rings she had ordered were amazing. At first, she wasn't sure; and it was an awfully steep price. Hey, why not, though? So she ordered them, only one box, which meant five rings. They arrived eerily earlier than expected. It wasn't too unusual for packages from Japan to arrive in only a day, right?

When she unwrapped the twine-tied package, she was surprised to find a thin, soft cloth tied up with a note on the string. Loosely translated from Japanese, the note read:

You most likely suspect that these are a sham, a fake. This is simply not true; I assure you that these work 100%. Don't believe me? Try them out for yourself.

Elizabeta chuckled and untied the cloth. Inside it sat five simple, golden rings. They were plain, and not even shined; but it was worth a shot. Elizabeta began to search out her first two victi- no, no, not victims. More like... beneficiaries. As she headed for the door, rings in hand, she spotted Ludwig and Feliciano walking by. Feli was happily jabbering on about something, probably pasta, as he usually was; and Ludwig was just as stoic as ever. That was, until...

Elizabeta giggled a little as Feliciano caught Ludwig off guard with a spontaneous kiss, the German looked so embarrassed! She decided not to use a ring on them, they obviously didn't need it. Still, though, she needed a test case. "Two guys who are not in a relationship, but should be, are the perfect candidates." the description had said.

So Elizabeta began to search outside. She saw a lot of couples who were just that, couples; that wouldn't do, she needed test subjects. As if some divine being had heard her pleas, Toris and Feliks walked around the corner. Aha! Elizabeta thought, This is perfect! Toris would never admit to- However, her thoughts were cut off as they hid in a corner and started making out. Damn it.

After a full day of cases like that, Elizabeta started back to her house. As tired and miserable as she was, though, her ears still perked up at the sound of raised voices. As she continued walking, she realized the voices were getting closer; and they were awfully familiar...

"Get the hell away from me, Antonio!" Definitely Romano...

"But, Romano, I lo-"

"I said go away!"

A mischievous smile stretched across Elizabeta's face, and it took all she had to not burst out into maniacal laughter then and there. Perfect.

Elizabeta peeked around the corner to find exactly what she suspected. Antonio was down on one knee, and holding a single rose up to a protesting Romano. She slipped around the corner, keeping her eyes on the two the entire time. Stealthily, she crept around behind Romano. Antonio made eye contact with her, but she raised her finger to her lips to silence him. He had just started to plead with Romano again, when Elizabeta reached around and slipped one of the rings on the Italian's middle finger.

Slipping back into the shadows, Elizabeta watched intently as Romano stopped yelling and instead listened to Antonio whilst staring at the ring.

"And that, my dearest Romano, is why I love you." Antonio said, signifying the end to his ridiculously long declaration of love. It was a good declaration, just very, very long. Romano's eyes flickered from the ring to Antonio and back, before he threw himself on the Spaniard. Elizabeta's eyes went wide, it had actually worked.

"I'm sorry..." Romano muttered, pulling Antonio down. "So sorry..."

And before Antonio could reply, he found his lips pressed to the Italian's. Antonio eagerly kissed back, wrapping his arms around Romano.

Elizabeta quietly sat in the dark corner, only her blinking video camera light and her nosebleed reflecting the light of the street lamp the Spaniard and the Italian clasped at each other beneath.


End file.
